


my intentions are (un)true

by TechnicalTragedy



Series: (i won't) take the easy road [3]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: Abuse, Collars, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Panic Attacks, Power Imbalance, Scars, Strangulation, Trust Issues, and not in a sexy way, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalTragedy/pseuds/TechnicalTragedy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing changes, he should know, he should've learned his lesson but Rhys just doesn't learn, does he?</p><p>His own howls meet his ears as he tastes blood on his tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my intentions are (un)true

**Author's Note:**

> hope you're enjoying the series so far and continue to enjoy! sorry i'm The Worst at updating lmao.

Jack's fingers trace the top edge of the collar, soft and almost reverent. Rhys isn't enough of an idiot to think that he's anything special, but the near-gentle look in Jack's eyes is almost enough to fool him.

“How's it feel, princess? Don't answer that,” Jack is quick to clarify. Rhys resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows the drill well enough by now, and even though Jack has called him a lot of things (naive, gullible, soft), Jack's never called him stupid.

Jack grins, his mask pulling the smile into something cartoonish, but Rhys knows it's genuine when Jack's fingers card through his hair. “So obedient, kitten.” He walks away abruptly, settling behind Rhy- his desk.

(He's taken over, he's taken everything. Rhys has given himself willingly to Jack, and he doesn't even know why. It's like instinct, something so deeply ingrained in him that he could tear it out as easily as his own heart. Jack is control with the sharp bite of rage, the sword twisted in your gut while being embraced. Rhys' scars are all Jack, Jack, Jack-)

Rhys follows, going to his knees beside Jack's chair. Jack chuckles above him and Rhys gives him a curious look.

“Oh, it's nothing. You just, heh, muscle memory sure is something, ain't it?” he tugs the hair at the nape of Rhys' neck hard enough to hurt, but it seems affectionate.

Rhys frowns to indicate to Jack that he's still confused, and Jack makes a noise of realization.

“Ah, I never told you that part, did I?” he smirks. “Back in the day, Rhysie, me and you had a lot of fun. Of course, you don't remember any of it, because Naka-whatever's ID Drive fucked up those memories. I poked around in your head a bit while I was in there, and man, I realized you didn't have anything left in there.” An odd look crosses his face, fast enough that Rhys can't place it.

Jack stares at Rhys for a long time, as if thinking. He finally looks away, and closes his eyes like he can't bear to see Rhys anymore. “Rhys, get up. I don't... Get off your knees and get out of this office.”

Rhys is startled at the sudden change in Jack's demeanor. He puts a hand on Jack's knee, and immediately finds a hand around his windpipe, squeezing and squeezing and Rhys feels something pop, his vision blurring and he tries to say something, anything, but there's no air in his lungs and his lips are moving soundlessly. He's going to die, he knows. Handsome Jack is here and there's a hand on his throat and Rhys was wrong to trust Jack, he can't trust anyone because this happens, this always- The next thing Rhys knows he's on the floor, gasping and coughing, drawing in desperate breaths and trying to overcome the feeling of dying. He's shaking, he realizes, and crying.

“Fuck,” Jack says. He knocked the chair over and Rhys is sprawled on the floor sobbing. Jack runs his hands through his hair agitatedly, and turns to Rhys. “Hey. Princess. Rhysie. Rhys, come on,” Jack tries. He frowns, then puts a hand on Rhys' shoulder.

Rhys jerks away from Jack's touch, pushing himself away from Jack and gasping for breath. “Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me.”

Jack's lips twist. “I'm sorry? Rhysie, baby, I didn't mean-”

“Don't!” Rhys struggles to his feet, unable to stop quivering. It's Handsome Jack, he reminds himself. 

(He was stupid, he was a fool. You can't fucking trust Handsome Jack, and Rhys knows this, he knows this, but he thought things were different, he thought Jack was different. Nothing changes, he should know, he should've learned his lesson but Rhys just doesn't learn, does he?)

Rhys moves for the door and Jack's hand wraps around his bicep. He panics, trying to get away, pushing at Jack desperately.

“Don't touch me, don't touch me, get your fucking hands off of me,” Rhys is babbling, trying to sound demanding but coming across as pleading. Jack pulls his hand back like he's been burned and Rhys is scrabbling at the elevator controls and escaping into it. He smashes the buttons, just wanting to get away, ripping the collar off his neck and throwing it down. Rhys sinks to the floor as the elevator makes its way to the ground level.

Rhys tries to catch his breath, putting his face in his hands and scrubbing at the tear tracks he feels. Jack shouldn't have moved so suddenly. Rhys shouldn't have disobeyed. He touches his port, making sure Jack isn't in his head again, that his mechanical arm is his to command. Rhys removes the arm with practiced movements, and only starts to breathe normally again once it's no longer attached.

(He's alone in his head, and instead of isolation it feels like relief, like his own thoughts are enough to fill his mind. He'd been starting to trust Jack again, limitless and complete, but the death he'd seen in those mismatched eyes had been the wake-up call he'd needed to remember why trusting anyone, especially Jack, was sure to be a possibly fatal mistake.)

The elevator doors slide open, beeping at Rhys to let him know they've reached their destination. He clambers to his feet, taking his metal arm with him as he starts back towards his apartment. The trip passes in a blur, but before he knows it he finds himself in his bed, the covers pulled tight around him as he shakes.

Worn out, Rhys eventually falls into an uneasy sleep.

(His dreams are pops of bright color, fleeting warmth, and they're imbued with an overwhelming feeling of devotion, of belonging and love and care and shining, aching hope. Eyes stare out at him, endless and understanding, soft and making Rhys feel nauseous, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

Rhys wakes up to a gentle hand in his hair, smoothing the waves that never seem to bow to his will. He knows who it is before he opens his eyes, and it's the last person he wants to see right now.

“What did you mean when you said Nakayama's ID Drive corrupted my memories?” Rhys asks, voice sleep-soft and tone implying that it definitely isn't optional to answer.

The hand stills, and Rhys imagines Jack is surprised, but it's more probable that he's just thinking, either about how to word the truth or what lie to tell. “You and I...” Jack starts, trails off.

“Me and you, what?” Rhys says.

“Look, we knew each other before you ever plugged Nakamono-whoever into your head and got hologram me. I wasn't always at the top, as much as I hate to admit it, and we've both been at Hyperion for a while. I was a programmer, and you were a code monkey for another department, and there was this Christmas party where you-”

Rhys interrupts him, “So, what? We fucked a few times before you rose to power, or whatever?”

“It wasn't just sex, Rhysie,” Jack says, almost sounding offended. “I mean, I never thought it was. I was soft back then, let you creep in. I...” Jack grunts, and the hand disappears from Rhys' hair entirely, probably to run through Jack's. “I loved you. Enough to do and say some really stupid shit. It's not like it was one-sided, either. You were totally into me, too.”

Finally, Rhys sits up, looking at Jack incredulously. “You're kidding, right? You're really going to try to convince me that you love me when you almost killed me? Multiple times?” Rhys scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I don't know if you think I'm dumb or stupid, Jack.”

Jack stares at him, expression twisting and then going alarmingly blank. He looks away, and Rhys sees his jaw twitch. “You don't have to believe me for it to be true,” Jack says.

Oddly, Rhys doesn't detect any kind of lie in his words. He decides, then, that he's going to give Jack one last chance. An impossible question for an impossible reality. “Jack,” he says, and Jack's eyes find their way back to Rhys as if he's their magnetic north. “I want you to take your mask off, and I want you to keep it off. Just when it's you and me.”

Jack smiles faintly, fingers going to trace the seam where metal turns to skin. “You asked the same thing, after it happened. Said it didn't feel like you were looking at me anymore. Of course, you also had some complaints about calling me Jack.” He puts his fingers to the clasps of the mask, then hesitates. Jack's lips twist and he gives Rhys a look. “You really aren't going to like what you see. I'm an ugly bastard under this mask.”

“So it won't be much of a change then, will it?” Rhys jokes, and Jack rolls his eyes as he pops open the first clasp.

Rhys falls silent as Jack takes his mask off, feeling like the occasion requires some kind of recognition as being important. The second clasp opens. Rhys reaches forward to undo the one on Jack's chin himself, and the mask falls into his hand when he manages to get it undone.

(The movement had felt familiar, as if his fingers had tugged the mask off many times before. If what Jack claims is true, Rhys may actually have some muscle memory helping him out, here.)

Carefully, Rhys sets the mask aside, having to be extra conscientious while operating with only one hand. He turns his attention back to Jack, and his breath catches in his throat as he looks at the man's true face.

The Vault symbol stands out starkly against the pale skin normally hidden from the sun, and Jack's normal eye is watching Rhys carefully, gauging his reaction. Slowly, so Jack can stop him, Rhys reaches out, but when Jack makes no move, Rhys runs his fingers over the blue scar.

“Does it hurt?” Rhys asks, stroking his thumb reverentially across the bridge of Jack's nose.

Jack's lips curl up at the corners, amused at Rhys' concern. “Nah, don't worry about it, princess. I can't feel anything on it directly, but the skin just around it is a little bit sensitive.”

Rhys nods, but is still careful in his exploration. Gently, feeling sappy and not a little silly, he places a tiny kiss on the arch of the scar, then removes himself from Jack entirely, backing into his own space and leveling a look at Jack. “I don't forgive you for earlier, you know.”

Jack's content expression morphs into a frown at the words, and he says, “Why not? I took off-”

“You're messed up, Jack, I know you are,” Rhys talks over him. Jack pouts at him, but Rhys continues,   
“Just because you've had past trauma that fucked you up really badly doesn't mean you can take it out on me. I'm not your, your plaything, Jack, and I don't know what kind of relationship we had before, but if we're going to be anything now – and that's a big if, Jack, because this is not a great start – I am your equal.”

Jack curls his lip in distaste. “I'm the King of Hyperion, Rhys. I'm Handsome fucking Jack, and what I say, goes.”

Rhys quirks an eyebrow. “You do realize that Hyperion's presence on Pandora dissolved when Helios fell, right? Not only that, but most people on the planet don't give a shit about Handsome Jack anymore, because those who weren't at Helios think you're dead, and those who were at Helios know you went down with your ship.” He softens his expression, trying to take some of the sting out of telling Jack he isn't the big hero he once was anymore. “I'm what you've got, Jack, and I'd love to have your help leading Atlas, but if you're going to try and fuck me over, I won't hesitate to do what needs to be done to secure my position and the safety of my company.”

“Huh,” Jack says after a moment, looking thoughtful. “When did you grow a pair?”

(Rhys doesn't think he's brave, knows he can fall apart at the slightest provocation, knows he's only hanging on by a thread. Jack doesn't seem to fully realize that, maybe thinks Rhys' earlier panic was a fluke of some kind. Rhys can use this to his advantage, can get himself in a position where Jack can't hurt him, if he's smart.)

“Somewhere between ripping my own arm off and rebuilding Atlas from the ground up, maybe,” Rhys says, and tries to sound angry instead of afraid.

Jack sighs. “You're still angry about that whole 'tried to choke you out using your own hand' thing, then? Good to know.”

Rhys scowls at Jack. “Of course I'm still mad about it, you almost-” He's cut off by Jack pushing him onto his back and crawling into bed. “What are you-” Jack presses a finger to his lips.

“You wanna be equals, right? I was thinking about how we could establish that and I thought, well, sex is a good place to start. It's how we met in the first place, so why shouldn't it be how we, uh, re-meet?” Jack frowns because he can't think of a good word, but clears his expression quickly, smiling down at Rhys. “So, I figured I'd suck your dick.”

“This is a very sudden change of pace,” Rhys says, but Jack is already pulling at Rhys' wrinkled button-down shirt like it's personally offending him.

Jack shrugs as he starts on the buttons, deftly pushing them through the holes. “I mean, you could fuck me, but I'm not super into butt stuff, giving or taking. I've always made exceptions for you, though.” Jack winks, and Rhys would almost find it sweet if they weren't talking about doing unspeakable things to each others' assholes.

Rhys puts his hands over Jack's, stopping their movement. “Hey,” he says, “I don't, um, I don't really want sex right now.”

Jack frowns. “But how else-”

“How about we, uh. God this sounds stupid. Um, why don't we cuddle?” Rhys cringes as he asks, hating the word cuddle, but that's really the only appropriate word for what he has in mind. “You can let me be the big spoon?”

“You want to cuddle,” Jack says, monotone. “I'm offering to blow you, and you want to cuddle instead?” At Rhys' nod, Jack sighs. “Alright, kitten. I like being the little spoon anyway.”

Rhys shrugs out of his shirt since it's already mostly unbuttoned and tosses it on the ground somewhere, he doesn't really care at the moment. Jack's gotten himself out of his own shirt and pants in the meantime, and Rhys decides it'd be a good idea to do the same. When he's finally finished undressing, he cuddles up to Jack's back and slings his arm over the man's waist.

“Go to sleep, Jack. I'll watch over you,” Rhys promises.

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, knight in shining armor.”

“Anything for you, Sleeping Beauty,” Rhys quips right back, and Jack chuckles again before falling quiet. Eventually, his breathing evens out and Rhys can feel that he's asleep.

Carefully, Rhys eases out of bed and goes to his bathroom, needing to look at himself in the mirror.

(His eyes are blue and green, his nose is sharper, his jaw is more square. There's a ring of bruises around his throat, a collar of a different kind. Rhys sees Jack in himself, in everything he does and everything he is. He sees Jack in the mirror's reflection, asleep in his bed. They're bound up in one another, two sides of the same coin, and Rhys wonders where one ends and the other begins.)

Rhys meets his own eyes, but they aren't his, not anymore. He puts his fingers over the bruises on his neck and they fit perfectly. He tried not to become Jack, but he always inevitably fails. They're the ouroboros, they forever eat their own tail. Rhys touches his face, unsure if its his own hand, or if its Jack's.

He turns out the light and goes back to bed. Jack snuffles in his sleep and moves closer, pressing himself against Rhys, and Rhys puts his hand over Jack's heart, feeling its beat under his palm.

Rhys closes his eyes and puts his mouth against the skin of Jack's neck, tasting his pulse. Jack can't be trusted, not by a long shot, but at least now Rhys has his own weapon of mass destruction, one that can wipe Jack out in an instant.

Rhys bites down. His own howls meet his ears as he tastes blood on his tongue.

You can never trust a snake that devours itself for fun.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're confused, join the party. also, sorry to tease w bjs but trust me there will be some gettin dirty soon ;)
> 
> ALSO JACK LIKES TO BE THE LITTLE SPOON FIGHT ME


End file.
